Friday, May 23, 2008

Last night One Ring and I mailed off my application for the VA positions. So now it's out of my hands. Of course, the whole exercise still seems for me a Quixotic task of tilting at windmills; the odds are that stacked against me. In fact, the scene from Star Wars comes to mind where the X-Wings are attacking the Death Star ("Did it go in?" One pilot asks another. "Negative. It just impacted on the surface!") But at least it's away and done and over with.

In other news, I'm wrapping up that pesky, equally meaningless paper that has been bugging me. I need to fire off a copy to my supervisor and then to the doctor who is behind this task. She keeps dangeling the carrot in front of us, promising us publication in some journal somewhere. But that's just not what I'm into.

Most people can't understand that. For them, getting anything published is a huge honor. You get the recognition of the community, the addition to the resume, and - I don't know - some sort of carnival prize, I guess. But for me, it's totally not necessary. To me, that's a game of the ego. Do it! Get published! Be respected and have people ooh and ahh, when you tell them that yes, you have been published. Thing is, my career doesn't focus on publishing, really. Don't need it; don't want it. If there wasn't a chance of me being here next year doing the same thing, I wouldn't care about pissing off the doctor who ordered the paper - it's a funding thing for my program. But since I may be here, I'm typing away.

Well, a meeting has just broken out in my office, so I'll post more later.